


thy alabaster flesh

by garafthel (sister_wolf)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Trope Subversion/Inversion, a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sister_wolf/pseuds/garafthel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a secretary enthralls a King; or, a Regency Romance set in Imladris. Featuring Galadriel and Thranduil as Middle Earth's Mean Girls; Elrond being 500% done with everything; and Lindir being anything but a delicate flower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thy alabaster flesh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kenporusty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenporusty/gifts).



> Not entirely canon-compliant. Set some time after the events of The Hobbit. Written for kenporusty's request of Thranduil and apodyopsis (the act of mentally undressing someone.) 
> 
> Note that although I absolutely adore Galadriel, Thranduil does not, and his POV reflects that.

If Saruman kept droning on for much longer, Thranduil was going to need some wine of better vintage than the table swill that Elrond had provided them.

For a moment it seemed as if the White Wizard had finally come to a stop, but then after a long pause he simply continued talking. Thranduil stifled a sigh. Wise he might be, but Saruman was a terrible bore.

Galadriel caught his eye across the table, her mouth slightly curved in a hidden smile. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at her and looked pointedly away. The Noldor witch might have fooled almost everyone in Middle Earth into buying her kind and wise act, but Thranduil was not so easily hoodwinked.

He felt the light brush of her mental touch against his mind and stiffened in outrage at the presumption. _Bored, my lord Thranduil? I thought that surely you would be fascinated. You were so greatly wroth when we overlooked inviting you to the last Council meeting, after all._ Her mental voice was light and charming on the surface but underneath it rang with power to any who had the wits to hear it.

_I was greatly wroth because you allowed the Company of Thorin Oakenshield to go on their merry way when you could have stopped them easily. You knew very well that they intended to enter the ruins of Erebor and that they had absolutely no concern for the destruction the dragon Smaug would rain down upon Lake-town and Mirkwood in retaliation. You knew that they would pass through my forest en route and yet you did nothing at all to warn me._

She smiled placidly at him. _And yet it all worked out in the end, did it not?_

Thranduil refused to answer, so incensed was he by the sheer arrogance of that response. Casting his glance around the chamber in search of something to distract him, his eye landed upon Elrond's secretary as he paused at the doorway of the Council Chamber to knock before entering. The secretary's face was well-composed, but his hands betrayed his nervousness, clasped together tightly as he gave his lord a report in an undertone.

The silken, seal-brown sweep of the secretary's hair slipped over his shoulder as he bent over to murmur into Elrond's ear. Idly, Thranduil watched the angle of his jaw and the long, delicate lines of his hand and wrist as the secretary pushed back his hair, which flowed to mid-back restrained only by two thin braids. 

_Elrond's secretary, Thranduil, really?_ Galadriel's mind-voice had a distinct undertone of amusement. _I didn't expect you to be one who would be tempted to take advantage of his lessers._

Stung, Thranduil jerked his gaze away from the secretary's slightly pouty lips to glare at her. _I am not in the habit of abusing my power,_ he said icily. _The White Wizard's ramblings have been so inane that anything new at all is a welcome source of distraction._

Her eyes twinkled. _If that is what you say._

Fortunately the secretary finished giving his report then, departing with his dark robes swishing around his slender hips, and Thranduil could focus his attention on other, much more important matters.

The secretary's name was Lindir, Thranduil learned at the dinner table that night. Elrond, impatient with proper protocol as always, actually allowed his secretary to dine at the same table with royalty. Thranduil couldn't even find it within himself to be surprised. Elrond always had delighted in refusing to do the expected thing. He supposed it had something to do with the Peredhel's unfortunate childhood.

Thranduil moved his thoughts deliberately away from that train of thought. It would be the height of rudeness to let any trace of his thoughts slip through while sitting at the dinner table with Galadriel, of all people.

He suspected that there was a trace of malice in Galadriel's light voice as she said, while they were relaxing at the table after dinner, "Master Lindir, I am told that you possess a wonderful gift as a harpist. Would you honor us with a song?"

Lindir's oak-brown eyes widened briefly in apparent dismay but his voice was utterly smooth as he replied, "Lady Galadriel, my skill as a harpist is nothing of note. Certainly I am not talented enough to honor such guests."

She smiled charmingly at him. "I am sure that Elrond would not have led me astray regarding your talents. Please, do agree to play a song for us, won't you?"

Lindir inclined his head with a perfectly composed smile curving his lips. "How could I possibly refuse such a request from the Lady of Lothlórien?"

Thranduil slanted a suspicious look at Galadriel. What was the Noldor witch planning?

Fifteen minutes later, the precise nature of Galadriel's subtle revenge became clear. Lindir's long sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing lightly muscled forearms with smooth skin the color of fresh cream. The silk brocade of his tunic showed only the merest hint of the play of muscles in the harpist's upper arms as he reached for the furthest strings. His long dark hair tumbled over his left shoulder as he tilted his head to the side in concentration, long, tapered fingers gently caressing the strings.

The base of the harp rested on the ground between his feet, his spread knees drawing attention to the lean length of his legs and parting the center seam of his tunic in an unfairly enticing manner. Thranduil found himself mesmerized by the way that Lindir's lips parted and his eyes closed as he played.

It took Thranduil a moment to realize that the song had ended to a polite round of quiet applause. He joined in quickly enough, but a sharply amused glance from Galadriel told him that his distraction had not gone unnoticed.

Lindir stood, easily lifting his harp with one arm despite its not inconsiderable weight, and bowed. "I thank you, my lady, my lords."

"On the contrary, it is we who must thank you for such a fine performance," Galadriel said. "King Thranduil in particular was saying how he missed the music of his royal harpists lilting through Mirkwood's shadowy halls."

Thranduil did not miss the subtle dig against his domain. 

"Indeed, Master Lindir, it was a performance worthy of a royal audience," he said.

"I hardly know what to say, except that I am greatly honored to have pleased you with my harping. My lady, my lords, I bid you farewell and goodnight." Blushing charmingly across his cheekbones, Lindir bowed again before hurrying away with his harp.

 _I do not know what you are playing at, my lady--_ Thranduil's mental voice was interrupted by Elrond clearing his throat pointedly.

"If you two are quite done with your little argument, I have something that I must say." Elrond's piercing dark eyes flicked across both of their faces before he continued, "Lindir is a person, not a piece in your little game of Fox and Hounds, and he is under my protection. I take that charge very seriously and will do my utmost to protect him from harm both physical and emotional. I trust that I have made myself clear."

Thranduil burned at the insult. He was fully aware though that by rights Elrond held equal rank to him even if he chose not to claim it, so he restrained himself from making the sharp retort that hovered at the tip of his tongue. "But of course."

"We meant no harm or disrespect to Lindir, I assure you," Galadriel said. Thranduil murmured his assent. "It's only that Thranduil has been alone for so very long and I thought that the two of them would make a wonderful couple."

_What?_

Galadriel turned to him and rested her fingers gently on Thranduil's hand as she said, "Please do not be angry with me, my dear friend. I only have your best interests at heart."

Thranduil kept a frozen smile on his face while thinking furiously at her, _I will burn your forest to the ground._

She raised an eyebrow at him. _Oh please, don't be ridiculous. You'd sooner kiss a Dwarf._

He was certain that Elrond would see right through Galadriel's ruse, but instead the Peredhel raised his eyebrows and smiled, looking almost... pleased, Thranduil thought. "Indeed? That is not a pairing I would ever have predicted. But love oft will spring to life where least expected."

Thranduil faced a choice: he could openly contradict Galadriel, offending a powerful witch and probably Elrond as well in the process, or he could go along with this ridiculous farce. Pasting a pleasant smile on his face, Thranduil said, "I felt that to speak of it would be most inappropriate considering the difference in our stations." There. That should settle the matter without causing offense.

"You know my opinion on such things," Elrond said. "Station does not matter where love is concerned."

Thranduil inclined his head, letting the point go without argument. "Still, it would be an abuse of my power were I to pursue the lad."

"If he does not know you, of course he might feel alarmed at a King's attentions," Galadriel said. Thranduil narrowed his eyes at her. "Which is why you and I, Elrond, must conspire to bring them together so that love might grow naturally."

 _The forest of Lórien has been very lucky to escape the infestation of giant spiders which plagues Mirkwood,_ Thranduil thought at her. _It would be a pity were that luck to turn, would it not?_

Galadriel simply smiled widely at him, looking extremely pleased with herself, and did not deign to answer.

Thranduil had thought at first that surely Galadriel and Elrond could not do much to throw them together. The three of them spent the majority of their days in the Council Chamber, suffering through Saruman's endless droning. Gandalf was apparently unable to join them, which Thranduil suspected meant the Grey Wizard was busy meddling somewhere he ought not to be (as usual.) 

As soon as this meeting of the White Council was concluded, Thranduil would return to his woodland realm. He would likely not have reason to encounter Lindir again for centuries. It was just as well. Thranduil had a forest in turmoil since the destruction of the Necromancer, uneasy allies in the Men of Dale and Lake-town, and a diplomatic relationship with Dain Ironfoot of Erebor which could be described as tense at best. Not to mention, a newly strained relationship with his son. He had no time for frivolous engagements.

However, frivolous engagements were exactly what Galadriel and Elrond somehow engineered into existence. First, there was a recess in the Council meetings for a mid-summer festival which Thranduil suspected was not usually celebrated so extensively in Imladris. He had easily managed to avoid Galadriel's obvious attempts to get them to dance together at the festival, which he eventually realized had been a ruse to get him to lower his guard. 

After that there was the boating incident (Lindir had been wet--not just wet, soaking wet, with his robes indecently plastered to his body and his hair dripping onto the floor) and the hunting trip which had somehow led to the harpist needing to take off his boots in order to wade a stream (the less said of that incident and Thranduil's discovery of a sudden attraction to Lindir's delicate but strong ankles, the better.)

Still, Thranduil thought that the two meddlers had in the end failed in their matchmaking. Lindir seemed alternately baffled and irritated by the string of incidents, and certainly no closer to developing a romantic interest in Thranduil. The day that the last meeting of the Council concluded, Thranduil escaped early from the dinner, pleading the need to finish packing and get a full night's rest before he and his guards departed at dawn for Mirkwood.

Of course, he personally did not need to worry about packing for the journey. All of that was taken care of by his adjutant, a grim-faced older warrior who had served Thranduil's father before him with the same terrifying efficiency. 

Thranduil therefore found himself at loose ends fairly early in the evening. He bathed leisurely, choosing afterwards to dress himself only in a light robe, remaining both crownless and bare of foot. Wandering out onto the balcony near his room, he sat alone enjoying the balmy summer air. He had been sitting on one of the carved wooden benches, lost in reverie for he knew not how long when he was interrupted by a gently cleared throat.

Startled, he looked up and saw that Lindir stood before him, his hands folded behind him and his head bent at a precisely deferential angle. Thranduil stood from the bench, clearing his throat and wishing that he felt a bit less naked in the thin silk robe. "Master Lindir. Does your lord require my presence?"

"No, indeed. In fact, I have been dispatched here to inquire if you need anything that Lord Elrond might supply for your journey." The secretary's sweet-toned voice was polite but utterly impersonal. What fools they were, Thranduil thought, to imagine that exposure might endear him to the younger Elf. Not that Thranduil cared a whit.

"You may tell your lord that I thank him sincerely for the offer, but my adjutant has reported to me that all is in readiness for the journey. Lord Elrond is most kind."

"Yes, he is." Lindir turned to go and then paused, turning back to face Thranduil. His large eyes flickered up and then down again, the movement the only thing that betrayed his facade of perfect calmness. "Lord Elrond has always been most kind. That is why it confused me at first that he and Lady Galadriel appeared to be engineering opportunities for the two of us to be alone together. I had never before known him to play cruel tricks for his own amusement. And yet that was the only interpretation that seemed possible, considering the very great differences between our statures and the meagerness of my charms."

Thranduil had not meant to say anything, but that last statement annoyed him into snapping, "Your charms are far from meager."

"Are they indeed?" Lindir asked, his head tilting to the side and his eyebrows going up. 

Thranduil coughed and looked away, refusing to answer.

The harpist made a thoughtful humming noise. "Well then. I think that my lord was correct in one thing--you do desire me."

To hear it stated so bluntly made the very tips of Thranduil's ears heat like a foolish youth. His voice deliberately cool and disinterested, he said, "I will admit to admiring you as one might admire a marble statue or a particularly well-phrased poem. As a work of art, from a distance."

"I see." Lindir bowed his head and looked away, his long, silken hair tumbling over one shoulder with the movement. Thranduil indulged himself for a moment with the thought of how that hair would look trailing across the milk-white skin of the harpist's bared chest. 

"I am sure that you speak the truth," Lindir said, his voice husky. Thranduil looked up, surprised to find that the younger Elf was standing much closer to him than he had been a moment ago. For all the deceptive delicacy of Lindir's build he was in fact not much shorter than Thranduil himself, perhaps only a handsbreadth smaller in stature. Thranduil fought the urge to step back and look away as Lindir said, his eyes trained directly on Thranduil's own, "But I suspect that you are one who would touch that marble statue with your hands so that you could experience it fully, and speak that perfectly phrased poem so that your lips and tongue could taste it."

Thranduil felt that he had somehow lost control of this conversation. "I know not what you desire to accomplish with this ridiculous--"

Lindir's lips curved as he said, "What I _desire_ is for you to touch this alabaster flesh and find that it is warm and inviting, not cold and lifeless under your palms, and taste the--"

Whatever else Lindir had planned to say would remain forever unknown as Thranduil, pushed past his ability to deny himself what was being so openly offered to him, took one step forward and claimed that clever mouth with a deep kiss. 

When Thranduil had imagined taking the younger Elf to bed, a thought that had occupied his mind shamefully often in the private hours of darkness, he had thought that Lindir would be shy and inexperienced in matters of the flesh, perhaps requiring a bit of coaxing to blossom. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Lindir's facade of obedience and deference was just that: a facade. Thranduil found himself stripped and spread out on his bed as he scarce yet realized they had stumbled in from the terrace. Lindir's long, clever fingers wrung gasps and moans from Thranduil, writhing naked on the sheets, while he himself remained fully dressed. Every time Thranduil moved to correct this inequity, Lindir distracted him with a new incursion upon his senses, destroying him with pleasure even though the harpist was still fully clothed and seemed entirely composed.

Lying panting and wrung-out on the sheets, Thranduil raised a shaky hand as Lindir stood from the bed. "Surely you do not mean to go. I have not yet explored that alabaster flesh you promised would be so warm and inviting..."

Lindir smiled, his eyes narrowing slightly with apparent amusement. "Perhaps if you are good, you may yet have the chance."

"If I am _good?_ Remember your place, harpist," Thranduil hissed, propping himself up on his elbows. "I am a King."

"I know what you are," Lindir said, stepping one precise pace back from the side of the bed. "However, if you ever attempt to command me as a King in bed, I promise you this: you will never again see me in any role other than as Lord Elrond's secretary. Understood, your Majesty?"

Thranduil burned with anger at the presumption. Who was this mousy little clerk to think that he could command a King? Thranduil had commanded the surviving portion of the Silvan forces through the terrible aftermath of the Battle of Dagorlad and the Siege of Barad-dûr, and this soft scholar with his harpist's hands thought that he could order him around?

Lindir stepped back again, his seal-brown eyes dark and unreadable. Thranduil realized that if he allowed the harpist to leave, he would like as not never see him again. The thought caused a surprising amount of agitation within his heart.

"Wait," Thranduil said, sitting up fully. "Please." The word did not stick in his throat as he had expected it to. "I would see us part as friends, even if we are not destined to be anything more."

Lindir paused, looking wary. "Friends, your Majesty?"

"Yes. And as a friend would, call me Thranduil. Please," he added so that it could not be heard as an order.

"Thranduil." He tucked a strand of seal-brown hair behind his ear, his soft smile making him appear more like the shy harpist that had so enthralled a King. "And I am Lindir."

"You are a fascinating contradiction, Lindir," Thranduil breathed. "I would that I could explore you further."

"Can you not? All that I ask is that you do not command me anything in bed," Lindir said, spreading his hands out. "Though I do think that if you were to allow yourself, you would enjoy letting go of control to someone else. But if that is not possible for you, I will not press you for it."

Thranduil shifted to sit on the edge of the bed closest to him, holding his hands out. After a pause, Lindir stepped forward and laid his hands palm-down on his open hands. "I am a King," Thranduil said. "I will admit that sometimes the weight of the crown is almost more than I can endure. But I do what I must, for the sake of my people."

Lindir looked down at him wordlessly, his face neutral except for a faint line of worry or tension between his eyebrows.

"I cannot allow you to command me. But... I can take that crown off, for a little while. And we may come together not as a harpist and a King, but simply Lindir and Thranduil. If only for an evening." 

Lindir pulled his hands away. At first Thranduil thought that he meant to leave without a word, but instead he put his hands to the neck of his tunic and began slowly unbuttoning it, revealing pale skin an inch at a time. He allowed the tunic to slip off his shoulders, leaving him standing there in only trousers and silk slippers. "I believe something was said about exploring my alabaster flesh," he said with a surprisingly wicked smile.

Thranduil found himself laughing as he tumbled Lindir down to the rumpled sheets. They made love then as any two lovers might, without thought of station or responsibilities. He made good on his words and explored every inch of that alabaster skin, learning what drew moans and gasps from the younger Elf. In doing so, he quickly discovered a new addiction: causing Lindir to close his eyes and bite his plush lower lip as he abandoned himself to pleasure.

The night was endless and yet far too short. Thranduil woke before dawn, hearing the sounds of his company of guards stirring in the outer rooms of his suite. Lindir was still deeply asleep, sprawled across more than his half of the bed. Thranduil guessed that he must never have had reason to learn the soldier's trick of waking at a moment's notice. 

He bathed quickly and dressed in his traveling clothes, sturdy fabric and thick leather that would stand up to the rigors of the road. Lifting his crown from its stand, he paused for a moment before setting it back down.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pushed the heavy fall of Lindir's hair back from his face so that he could kiss him on his perfect brow. The younger Elf blinked and stirred, waking with hazy eyes. "Thranduil?"

"I must go, Lindir." He lifted one of the harpist's hands to his lips and left a soft kiss in the center of his palm. 

"I know," the harpist said softly, folding his hand as if to keep the kiss safely inside. "Safe travels and may the sun and moon light your path."

Thranduil kissed him on his gently curving lips and then stood to go. He lifted the crown from its stand again and settled it on his head. Seldom had it felt so heavy. Turning to face the younger Elf, still lying among the mussed sheets that bore evidence of their passion, he said, "I fear that I must leave without knowing when we will see each other again."

"I understand, and yet my heart yearns for that unknown time," Lindir said, his beautiful dark eyes glistening with tears. 

Thranduil inclined his head slowly, his eyes closing. "As does mine," he admitted in barely a whisper. Turning away, he left without another word, afraid of what else might escape his lips if he allowed himself to speak again.

As he rode away from the valley of Imladris feeling as if he had left something precious in Elrond's keeping, Thranduil found himself wondering if the Noldor witch had planned it this way all along.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found on tumblr at http://garafthel.tumblr.com.


End file.
